


A kiss on the hand may be quite continental

by VulpixSinistre



Series: Unusual Contessa Ships [2]
Category: H.I.V.E. Series - Mark Walden
Genre: F/M, as he does, so this ones rates T because he says some weird things. You know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29667786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpixSinistre/pseuds/VulpixSinistre
Summary: He told her about all the places he’d been, all the places he’d built.Her stories were not as sweet. She plucked the kindest ones and prettied them up, or swatted away the most unpleasant details with a wave of her hand. If he knew, he said nothing.
Relationships: Contessa Maria Sinistre/Nathaniel Nero
Series: Unusual Contessa Ships [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173347
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	A kiss on the hand may be quite continental

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this ship because I misread a post and thought it sounded like they used to have a thing going. So. Yeah <3

Darkdoom rushed the Contessa aside one fateful day as discreetly as possible. He swept a small package out of the folds of cape and into her unsuspecting hands. He’d programmed some coordinates into the Shroud; if she would be so kind as to stop there on her way back from her trip? And keep it secret from Nero, if at all possible. Professor Pike tripped in the room after them and emphatically told her some sort of chess move, making her repeat it back multiple times until he was convinced she would remember. Any initial hesitation at carrying out this errand had been replaced by now with curiosity, and she agreed. 

Imagine her surprise upon arriving at the location and finding out that A) the mysterious person living there was The Architect, B) he was Dr. Nero’s father, and C) she rather enjoyed being around him. 

She introduced herself as the Contessa Sinistre, assuming he would have heard of her. 

His bushy white eyebrows raised at her name. “A countess, eh? I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty.” He grasped her hand with a surprising softness and bowed slightly to kiss the back of it. “Thank you for delivering the package, milady.”

“Shut up,” she blurted out unexpectedly; it was all she could think to say in her shock. But she spoke without malice and did not slap his hand away. 

Perhaps it was the flattery, something she had become less used to receiving. How did the song go again? ‘Men grow cold as girls grow old, and we all lose our charms in the end.’ Not to him, apparently. 

Although, he seemed the type of man to flirt in an empty manner with any woman he met. Yet here he stood, still holding her hand. Certainly his reputation as The Architect preceded him. And the intelligence and level headedness that gleaned through those sharp blue eyes was rather… attractive, she supposed. 

Maybe if she wasn’t busy, she thought with a little smile, she could drop by again if any other errands were needed. Or even just to visit. 

* * *

Flirting back felt like calling his bluff. Only he wasn’t bluffing, as it turns out. They served coquettish comments back and forth, becoming bolder as they went. A compliment, a chuckle, a wink. Standing just a bit too close, holding a glance a few seconds longer than usual. Two players long retired finding themselves suddenly thrust back into the game. A game they played out of boredom, disguising itself as some other, more foreign to them, emotion. 

* * *

Nathaniel worked furiously on the large diagram rolled out on the desk. His pencil danced across the page, making note of measurements and equations galore. In black permanent marker he drew solid lines to emphasize sturdy walls and elegant stained glass window displays… and some sort of Willy Wonka-esque elevator that moved in all directions. 

The Contessa waited impatiently for him to finish up and turn all his attention to her, where it rightfully belonged. 

“Hold on just a minute,” he said out of nowhere, looking up like he had just realized something and pointed his pen at her. “Aren’t you around the same age as my son? You must be, right?”

Nero - the Doctor Nero - gave no indication of his age despite a few silvery hairs. Even after working alongside him all these years, she couldn’t be exactly certain. “How old is he?”

“Let’s see, by now he’d be…” he hummed and clicked his pen thoughtfully a few times. Clearly their relationship had been strained if he couldn’t remember one of the most basic pieces of information about his own child. “Well, how old are you?”

“ _Never_ ask a lady her age, surely you know this by now.”

“My, my, pardon my impertinence. How can I make it up to you?”

“Focus on _me_ , since I came all this way! Not whatever this…” She moved to shove the paper away from him, until the features caught her eye and made her do a double take. “What the hell is this supposed to be, anyways?”

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows and playfully warned in a mock grave voice, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

She leaned over the desk until their noses almost touched. “I’d like to see you try,” she purred. 

* * *

He told her about all the places he’d been, all the places he’d built. He could vividly recall the landscapes, she felt as though she were standing in a museum in front of an oil painting, with the clear and fond way he described them. 

Her stories were not as sweet. She plucked the kindest ones and prettied them up, or swatted away the most unpleasant details with a wave of her hand. If he knew, he said nothing. 

* * *

“Here's one,” Nathaniel suggested as he shuffled through his cards. “I’ll tell you how my wife died if you tell me how your husband died.” 

She tried to remain impassive but he could see how her shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Who says he’s dead?” she countered, tossing a handful of chips into the table. 

“Oh-ho! This I need to hear.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking me something more along the lines of, I don’t know, my favorite color, or my favorite record?”

“A boring man would, but I am no such thing,” he waggled his eyebrows up and down until she snorted a laugh. “Oh. Gin.”

“We aren’t playing gin, Mr. Interesting,” she grinned. 

“Then I have no earthly idea what I’m doing. Let me go find a chessboard.”

* * *

Nathaniel punched in the codes, scanned his fingerprints, and unlocked the locks, sliding the vault door open with a rumble. His finest creations from building to bases, air ships and submarines, and more were all displayed here. A sort of trophy room for him. “You like what you see?” he asked, raising his arms up in a proud gesture. 

“They’re brilliant,” the Contessa exclaimed in awe. The entire process was laid out, starting with blueprints, moving on to models, and a few photographs of the finished products. “These designs are genius!”

“I wasn’t talking about the blueprints, sweetheart.”

“Ugh. You’re awful.”

“Just the way you like it.”

* * *

They shared a whole bottle of wine in the kitchen, passing it between them without any glasses while Nathaniel sketched onto a napkin. It started as a little chalet, now he added towers and turrets along the side. 

“Add a moat,” the Contessa said, taking a swing from the bottle. 

He nodded and doodled waves around the building. “Of course, of course.”

“I know, make it a zeppelin.”

His boisterous laugh bounced around the concrete walls. What a freeing feeling it was, being able to laugh like that again. “How is a blimp supposed to have a moat?”

“That’s your job, to figure out how to make it work,” she shrugged, passing him the bottle with a smile. “If I like what you draw, maybe I’ll actually have you construct it for me. It’ll be my summer home.”

“You’d still have to pay,” he gulped down a few more mouthfuls of wine and tapped the tip of the pencil on the table. “ I’d give you a discount though.”

“How kind.” She watched him work, enjoying the sense of calm it gave her. The serious way he approached their joke of a structure was almost, dare she say, cute?

Grabbing a napkin, she drew a small house as well, something with arched doorways and wide windows. “How does this look? Lovely, if I say so myself.”

He turned briefly in her direction, then did a double take away from his own work. “Ah…”

“What? What is it?”

“My dear… you have many talents, but art is not one of them.”

* * *

The den was lined with long sectional couches as if ready for all the guests he would never invite. Side by side they sat, leaning against each other with fingers intertwined. 

Clattering and banging sounded out from the next room. His new assistant, he said. 

She separated herself from his side and slid down to the other side of the couch, legs crossed and back straightened. He rose with a grunt and closed the distance between them, setting himself down to resume their previous sitting position. 

“What are you doing?” she hissed. “Your little apprentice could be here any second!”

“So.”

“ _So_ , I am not about to be gawked at by some youth in disgusting paint-splattered jeans!”

“You have a problem with jeans?” he asked, purposely choosing to miss her point. 

She took the change in subject in stride. She was used to that by now. “Personally, I don’t think I could pull off jeans.”

“I would pull them off you.”

“Shut _up!_ ” She howled in laughter while shoving him away. She hated many things about him. She hated nothing about him. 

* * *

Darts: a classic pastime they both enjoyed. 

The woes of parenting: a commonality they were surprised to find. 

No score was kept on either count. Darts and complaints were thrown out in turns and briefly commented on by the other. Nathaniel was more relaxed towards both, soft tosses and statements accompanied by shrugs, as though resigned to the fact that yes, he hadn’t spoken to his son in years and yes, his aim was always off center. 

Another lazy toss, and a dart stuck sideways in the outermost ring. “Kids can be so ungrateful sometimes.” He said this rather informally, almost offhandedly, as if he were reciting a line from a script people used for this kind of scenario. The part of him that meant it had cooled over the years. 

She snorted in agreement as she snatched up her set of darts, flinging them with increasing toughness. 

“You are preaching to the choir, trust me.” _Thunk_ . “You bring them into this world-“ _Thunk_ . “-and you raise them-“ _Thunk!_ “-and after all that-“ **_Thunk!_ ** \- “they turn their backs on you!” **THUNK.**

Quietly he came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging them gently. “Why don’t we go have a cup of tea, eh?” She allowed herself to be led into the kitchen without protest, silently stewing in her sudden anger; him slowly ushering her away from the darts wedged firmly into the bullseye. 

* * *

“You haven’t come to visit in a long time.” He tried not to sound like he was accusing her of something. Maybe he was, though. 

She fidgeted with her rings, tapped her nails on the table. “You know I am unable to leave HIVE very often.”

“You used to make it here with at least some semblance of frequency.”

“When I _can_ leave, I have other places to be,” she explained tiredly. 

“Oh really? Where?”

“None of your business.”

Anger began to bubble inside him. “And these places, they’re more important than me?”

“Yes, I suppose they are!” she snapped. 

Quiet, for a few minutes. She’d been looking anywhere but him, not out of disregard but distraction. He collected his thoughts carefully. 

Nathaniel leaned into his cane and spoke slowly, precisely. “I like to speak plainly. I see no need for exaggerating or twisting words around, when it’s so much simpler to get straight to the truth. So, tell me. Am I only an old fool to you?”

One thin hand moved to rest at her throat, to tangle around where her monocle chain clipped to her brooch. “That isn’t all you are to me, no.”

He sighed. For some time now, he had been able to sense where they were heading. She hadn’t said much, but she didn’t have to. He knew. “I’m being left behind then,” he said simply. 

“I may be back for you. One day.”

“Who says I’ll be here waiting for you?” He tried to be stubborn. He tried to be uncaring, unconcerned. But when she rose gracefully from the sofa and made her way over to him, he knew his sadness was too obvious. 

“Oh, we both know you will be,” she said, pressing one long, final kiss on his cheek. 


End file.
